


Across the Aisle: How Love Turns Out to Be Less Battlefield and More Bipartisan

by Startedwith1Whisper



Category: BrainDead
Genre: Costumes, F/M, Fake Injury, Halloween, Luke is selectively oblivious, Pool Sex, bad timing, musical theater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Startedwith1Whisper/pseuds/Startedwith1Whisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mostly unrelated short stories featuring the romance between our favorite congressional staffers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Embedded Tunes and Theater Buffs: Shooting the Shit After a Hard Day on the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT UPDATE, 11-28-17: For the past year and a half, I've had one more story completed and two more in the works, but I've never published any of the three because I haven't been able to get the two to finish. As of today I still can't figure out the two unfinished stories, but I'm going to publish the finished story as chapter 5. Also as of today, I'm going to count this series as complete for now, adding the two unfinished stories if and when I finish them.  
> These stories have no particular timeline. I saw them as occurring after the Bug Squad (Laurel, Gustav, Rochelle, and Gareth) has eradicated the screwworms, but most of them are vague enough to be placed within the timeline of the show if you want them to be.  
> My headcanon of Gareth as a secret musical theater buff may show up in many of these stories because I like the idea of him having an interest (other than Laurel, of course ;) ) that his party mates would frown on, but "Embedded Tunes and Theater Buffs" and "Halloween" are the only two stories directly related to each other.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After staying late to finish up some work, Laurel and Gareth share a drink in her office. He shares a secret and she finds herself working overtime to hide her feelings for him.

“Hey, Laurel?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I think I’ve got an earworm.”  
Laurel groans. “Oh, Lord, can you please not call it that? Sounds way too close to ‘screwworm’ for comfort.”  
Gareth smirks, that infuriatingly perfect smirk that always makes Laurel’s stomach flip-flop. “Well, what would you rather I call it?”  
She puts her head in her hands. “I don’t know. ‘Stuck song?’ ‘Embedded tune,’ maybe?"  
He laughs.  
She reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses that she swiped from Luke’s office when he wasn’t looking. “OK, forget it. Please just tell me it’s not ‘You Might Think,’ because I think if I never hear that song again, it’ll be too soon.”  
Gareth quirks a smile at her remark and the shared sentiment but goes pale from the confession he’s about to make-and the even bigger one he’s dying to make. “It’s not that. Never that. OK, please don’t tell anyone on my side of the aisle-it might really hurt my conservative cred-but I’m a little bit of a musical theater buff.”  
It’s Laurel’s turn to laugh as she finishes pouring and slides his glass toward him. “Oh my God, I never would’ve guessed that! How’d it start?”  
He takes a sip. “When I was a kid, my best friend’s big sister was a drama nerd-basically did every high school production. I had a huge crush on her, so I went to every play my parents deemed age-appropriate. After she graduated and moved away for college, my crush on her faded, but I never stopped loving the theater.”  
“So how old were you?”  
“Oh, about 7 when she was a freshman, 10 when she graduated.”  
“Little 7-year-old Gareth Ritter in his best church clothes, going to all the high school plays because he had a crush on his friend’s sister? Using his allowance to buy her a rose or a corsage in the hallway?”  
He nods, a bit red in the face.  
She laughs again. “Aw, that’s so sweet!”  
Gareth puts his hand on her shoulder. “Come to think of it, you look a lot like her. I guess I’ve always had a thing for tall, dark-haired, liberal-minded girls with giant doe eyes and dangerous curves.”  
Laurel sucks in a breath. The air feels electric, like it did when they kissed at Jonathan Broadbent’s wake. Like it so often does when she’s with him. They almost kiss again, but she gives her head a quick shake, plays with her glass, and asks “So, what song’s stuck in your head right now?”  
“Well, right now this theater buff has a show tune trapped up there. Do you know ‘Sandy’?”  
“Oh, from _Grease?_ I always loved that show! You mind singing it for me?”  
He blanches again and downs the rest of his whiskey. “Wh-what?”  
“Don’t worry, I won’t make fun of you if you totally suck. Besides, sometimes when a song gets stuck, singing it through can dislodge it. It’s worth a try, at least.”  
Gareth gives her a nervous look, blue eyes pleading with her, even though he’s not really sure whether or not he wants her to drop it. Laurel is probably the most trustworthy person on the Hill-maybe even the only person he trusts, period. She’s certainly the first person outside his elementary school he’s told about his passion for the theater, and it feels great to finally let someone know about it.  
She fixes her doe eyes on him, and he knows he’s doomed. “Look, how about I sing the first line with you and then you go from there?”  
The nervous look softens, and he nods.  
“Great! OK, let’s go for it. ‘Stranded at the drive-in, …’”  
He takes over. “‘…branded a fool. What will they say Monday at school?’”  
As Gareth continues, Laurel realizes that he sings like an angel-she thinks she’d pass out if she weren’t sitting down. She’s fighting back tears, and she’s pretty sure her stomach’s doing a Gabby Douglas routine. It almost makes her want to take “Laurie” as a nickname, so she can pretend he’s singing to her. Almost.  
She claps wildly when he finishes, like he were a Broadway star instead of an amateur musical theater buff. “Holy shit, Gareth, you sound incredible! I’d love to hear you do ‘Pity the Child’ sometime!”  
“You mean from Chess? ‘Pity the Tenor’? Oh, no, I could never do that.”  
She smirks at him. “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind and wanna try it out. I’ll always listen to you-after all, us secret theater buffs have to stick together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Chess_ is a musical about the rivalry between (fictional) US chess champion Freddie Trumper and (fictional) Russian chess champion Anatoly Sergeievsky during the late ‘70s/early ‘80s, co-written by Tim Rice and the male members of ‘70s Swedish disco group ABBA. “Pity the Child,” a song where Freddie outlines how his unhappy childhood drove him to excel in chess, really is called “Pity the Tenor” or “Pity the Singer” in musical theater circles because it’s notoriously difficult to sing. I’d love to hear Aaron Tveit tackle it sometime.


	2. Halloween: The Day Everyone Becomes Someone Else Without the Influence of Politics or Screwworms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth asks Laurel to a Halloween party. When they see each other in their costumes, unresolved feelings come bubbling to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to "Embedded Tunes and Theater Buffs." All stories beyond this point will not necessarily be in the same timeline as these first two. Also, I was listening to the _Grease: Live_ soundtrack (again) when I wrote them, so Aaron’s performance there inspired me to use “Sandy” as Gareth’s earworm in “Embedded Tunes and Theater Buffs” and to have Laurel and Gareth ultimately choose to dress as Danny and Sandy in this story.

“So, Halloween’s coming up.”  
“Don’t let my colleagues hear you say that-one of them might decide to revive witch burnings and start with you.”  
Laurel rolls her eyes. “Har har. Come on, you’re a congressional chief of staff! You must know about some awesome bipartisan Halloween party I’m too low on the totem pole to be privy to.”  
“Well, as it turns out, I may have learned of a party at George’s that some of the cooler staffers on both sides will be at and swung invitations for both of us. However, the rules state that any two or more people coming together must wear matching or coordinating costumes.”  
“And you didn’t tell me earlier because you were worried that if you asked me to dress up and go with you, it’d seem like too much of a ‘couple’ thing?”  
Gareth blushes, and _oh my God,_ thinks Laurel, _why is **that** making my heart pound?_ “No, I don’t care if people think we’re a couple-we basically have a blank check of goodwill after the screwworm incident. I just… can’t decide who we should dress up as.”  
“Well, what are our options?”  
“Since you and I are such secret theater buffs, I’ve selected some couples from popular musicals-Danny and Sandy, Maria and Tony, Elphaba and Fiyero on the off chance you feel like doing the green makeup, Drew and Sherrie from _Rock of Ages,_ and if we’re feeling particularly rebellious, Roger and Mimi. I’ve had an intern deliver the female costumes to Gustav, who has in turn draped them over the arm of your couch so you can put them in your closet when you get home.”  
Laurel sighs. “Wow, that is quite a dilemma. Why don’t we wait? I’ll decide the night of and text you my choice before I leave.”  
“That, Ms. Healy, is the kind of decision-making that makes you so great for constituent care. I’ll see you then.”  
“If not before.”  
“Yeah, if not before.”

“Have you made your decision yet?” Rochelle yells through Laurel’s bedroom door. “‘Cause I need to know now whether or not I gotta do your green makeup.”  
“No green,” Laurel calls back. “I have decided, and no green.” She fixes her wig, touches up her lipstick, and strides out.  
Rochelle whistles. “Damn, you look good! Gareth’s gonna be all over you!”  
Laurel picks up her phone, grinning. “That’s the idea.” She texts Gareth: Remember our theater-buff bonding?  
He replies: Grease? R u Good Sandy or Bad Sandy?  
Well, y don’t u wait + c? (winking emoji)  
Gareth starts gelling his hair into an abbreviated version of the Danny Zuko pompadour, comb hand shaking a bit in anticipation.  
Laurel puts her phone in the black clutch Rochelle brought over. “I don’t expect to be home for a while tonight, so you might as well go home yourself. Don’t wait up!”  
Rochelle winks. “I won’t! Happy Halloween!”

Laurel pulls up outside Gareth’s building and gets out of her car.  
Her phone beeps: Ready, Sandy?  
She sits on the hood and replies: Tell me about it, stud.  
Gareth’s heart pounds. He throws his leather jacket on and rushes out.  
He doesn’t even notice Laurel’s curly blonde wig when he sees her standing in front of him-he’s too drawn to her face, still so perfectly Laurel, but with cat eyes and bright red lipstick. As he looks down, he sees her black catsuit making her curves even more dangerous than ever. Her red shoes raise her to his height, and she takes advantage of it and looks him dead in the eye.  
“Well?” she says, tilting her hips slightly to the right. “Got something to say?”  
He stares a bit longer before striding up to her and kissing her deeply, pulling her against him and running one hand down her back to rest just above her ass.  
When he pulls back, she smiles at him, panting (and somehow her lipstick hasn’t smudged-some makeup trick he knows nothing about). “That was very eloquent of you, Gareth. I must say, I love you too.”  
“You got all that from the kiss?”  
“Yeah, it was pretty evident. That, plus I’ve been in love with you for a while.”  
“Me, too. I loved you pretty much from the moment you first came into Wheatus’ office and picked a fight with me.”  
After a moment in each other’s arms, Laurel says, “Well, shall we?”  
“We shall.”  
The party’s great, as promised, and everyone loves their costumes. However, Laurel and Gareth find their private afterparty at his apartment immensely more enjoyable.


	3. Foolish Lovers’ Game: How a Cheesy Power Ballad May Have Narrowly Averted Another Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel and Gustav think they see more screwworms, but it appears to be a false alarm. Gustav figures out that Laurel's in love with Gareth and reassures her that he won't try to move in on her.

Laurel and Gustav are sitting on a bench on the National Mall. Gustav first called the meeting to give her the number for his new burner phone, but then he got onto like 10,000 tangents, as usual, and now they’ve moved on to brainstorming-and arguing about-possible survival tips in case (democracy gods-if there are such things-forbid) the screwworms invade again.  
“Look, the screwworms can’t stand emotion, and love’s the strongest emotion in the world. Singing love songs or blaring them from speakers would totally keep them away!"  
“No, your theory makes sense, kinda. I’m just not sure if your particular method would work!”  
Suddenly Laurel sees something out of the corner of her eye. “Wait, what’s that? Are those bugs?”  
Sure enough, a line of bugs that look suspiciously like screwworms is marching toward their bench.  
The first love song that comes to her mind is “Take My Breath Away”- _damn it, maybe I shouldn’t have watched Top Gun last night!_ She sings it anyway, focusing all her thoughts on Gareth.  
It seems to work-the bugs run away.  
Gustav grins. “Look at that-your idea does work!”  
“Yeah, lucky guess, huh?”  
“Or they weren’t actually screwworms. There are plenty of other bugs out there that look like ‘em-army ants, for example.”  
“Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ve got enough on my plate right now-spare me the details on these other lookalike bugs unless they start attacking DC.”  
He does, but the next words out of his mouth make her wish he hadn’t. “So, were you thinkin’ of me during your 80s pop diva turn there?”  
Laurel shakes her head. “No, Gustav, I’m sorry if I led you on, but I don’t think of you that way. There’s someone else-there always has been, the whole time I’ve known you.”  
Gustav thinks for a moment, and then says “It’s that Republican boy on the Hill that you keep fighting with, isn’t it?”  
She blushes and gives a tiny nod.  
The grin returns to Gustav’s face. “Hey, no worries. You get your Carville-Matalin thing on with him, I’ll be fine. Besides, I kinda have my eye on Doc Daudier anyway.”  
Laurel sighs in relief. “Thanks, Gustav. Good luck with Rochelle!”  
“No problem. Get that boy, and watch out for screwworms!”  
“Those are army ants, not screwworms-we literally just discussed this!” Laurel yells back over her shoulder as she runs. She doesn’t really care about insect semantics, though. She’s just happy that someone knows about her love for Gareth and won’t tell anyone, and that she’s finally free to pursue him without the fear of getting caught in a(nother) love triangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, in case anyone wasn't clear on it, comes from Berlin's "Take My Breath Away," the love ballad from _Top Gun_. I also like the _Glee_ cover with vocals by Dianna Agron and Naya Rivera.  
>  For any readers unfamiliar with US politics, when Gustav says "You get your Carville-Matalin thing on with him," he's comparing Laurel and Gareth to James Carville and Mary Matalin, political strategists most active during Bill Clinton's administration. He works on the Democratic side and she was a Republican but has switched to Libertarian as of this year, and they've maintained a strong marriage despite their ideological differences. The comparison's valid-Laurel and Gareth have a similar ideological split, with the genders reversed.


	4. My Treasure Map Was On Your Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gareth tries to throw a pool party, but Laurel’s the only one who comes. Or shall I say, the only one who shows up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Train's "Mermaid"  
> This is smut. Don't like, don't read.

On the Senate’s last day in session, Laurel’s phone rings during a lull in constituents. “Senator Healy’s office, Laurel speaking.”  
“Come on, Lo,” the voice on the other end purrs. “I’d think we could drop the formalities by now.”  
Laurel blushes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “What’s up, Gareth?”  
“Oh, nothin’. I’m throwing a pool party for some of the younger Hill staffers Saturday-you know, celebrate the long-overdue congressional recess and all the hard work we put in to get there-and I wanted to make sure you were the first one I invited.”  
“A pool party does sound like fun. What time, and do I need to bring anything?”  
Gareth almost says “All you need to bring is your fine ass,” but decides against it at the last minute. Instead he goes for “You should shoot for about 2:00, and you won’t need to bring anything-I’ll have it all set up. You know where my building is, right?”  
“Oh, yes, I remember. It kind of tends to stick in your mind when you give somebody a ride home and find out that their apartment costs twice as much as yours.”  
“Hey, when you’ve been here longer, you’ll be able to afford it too.”  
“If I stay here that long.” Which may be a distinct possibility, if he plays his cards right.  
“Right. See you Saturday!”  
“Yeah, can’t wait!”  
She really can’t wait, but she’s also terrified of being alone with him at his building, afraid of what he might do-or what **she** might do.

Laurel reaches Gareth’s building Saturday to find him waiting for her outside it. He lights up when she gets out of her car, which could prove incredibly dangerous when combined with his vaguely tie-esque print swim trunks and defined torso. “Laurel! I’m so glad you made it, ‘cause you seem to be the only one who did.”  
Laurel raises her eyebrows. “Did everybody else RSVP no, or did you even invite anyone else?”  
He produces his phone and shows her several phone numbers on their way to his apartment. “These people told me no when I called them, and these people”-he changes the screen to show her several “no” texts-“texted me their ‘no’s. Come on, Lo, did you really think I was tricking you?”  
“Well, you have done it before,” she fires back as he unlocks his door.  
“Touché. Come on, why don’t you get changed in the bathroom and come out to the pool?”

Gareth checks everything one last time while he’s waiting for Laurel to come out.  
_Pizza, chips, pretzels, napkins-all check. Cooler of beer-check. Satellite radio tuned to one of the top 40 stations-check. Yep, everything’s set._  
He rethinks this notion when he finally sees her step into the pool area-nothing may ever be set again. She’s poured her curves into a mismatched bikini-black bottoms with skinny straps on the sides and a rainbow halter top-and the sex appeal effortlessly radiating from her may forever ruin the suit, and quite possibly all other women, for him.  
Laurel pushes her sunglasses down her nose and gives him a concerned look over the top of them. “Gareth? Are you OK? Do I look OK?”  
He comes back to reality and shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. You look great!”  
She grins and pushes her sunglasses back up, and he wonders if he could have a heart attack just from watching her do that. “Thanks! Why don’t we dig in?”  
She pulls two beers out of the cooler and tosses one to him. He gratefully catches it, knowing there’s no way he’s getting out of this alive if he stays completely sober.

After they’ve each had a couple of slices and waited the mandatory hour, Laurel puts her sunglasses on the table and they move to the pool.  
She’s just as graceful and powerful in the water as out, and Gareth’s no less mesmerized by her. There’s a certain way the sun shines through the water and onto her skin that makes her seem to shimmer, and when he sees it he wonders if she might actually be descended from mermaids.  
She reaches the deep end, flips, and swims back. He’s standing in waist-high water, so once her head’s above water she rights herself and walks over to him. “This afternoon’s been really fun. Thanks for inviting me, Gar.”  
Gareth is now standing in a pool with a bone-dry mouth. He takes a moment to reflect on the irony of this before replying “You’re welcome, Lo.” 

He’s had the urge to kiss her all day-well, truthfully, ever since the first time they kissed at Jonathan’s wake. Now it feels right, so he finally acts on it. She tastes like salt, pizza, chlorine, and that one undefinably Laurel thing-a combination he’d gladly taste for the rest of his life, especially the last part.  
She moans into the kiss, and he takes it as an opportunity to slide his tongue in. The dance of her tongue against his reminds him of what he loves most about her, what saved Washington and the rest of the world from the screwworms-her determination and her refusal to take anything lying down. She pulls him closer and detaches their lips. “Fuck, Gareth, do something, **please.** ”  
Gareth’s head swims and he grows exponentially harder. Did she just beg him to do more? There’s no one else here, so she must have. He walks them to the shallow end of the pool, kissing a trail down her neck. His hand creeps under her top and starts massaging her breasts.  
She arches into his touch. “Oh my God, yes, keep going.”  
He sighs. “What do you want, Lo? Tell me what you want.”  
“Oh, fuck, I’m so wet. I can’t stand it, you have to do something to my pussy now, please.”  
_Now? In the water?_ But her sex voice is so husky, it has him under a spell-there’s no way he could deny her anything right now.  
He slides his free hand under her bottoms and smoothly pushes two fingers into her pussy.  
She gasps. “Fuck! Yes, yes, please, keep it up!”  
He pulls out slightly and then thrusts his fingers back in, setting up a rhythm. 

Laurel thinks she’s losing her mind. Gareth’s finger-fucking her in the middle of the pool, and it feels so good but it’s just not enough. She can’t stop moaning, needing more than what he’s given so far.  
And then his hand, the one holding her up, lowers her bottoms slightly, and he’s taking a deep breath and ducking his head underwater to suck her clit.  
A jolt of electricity goes through her, making her cry out. “Oh, holy fuck, Gareth, yes!”  
He keeps licking and sucking, his fingers thrusting in and out the whole time. It’s too much-just what she needs. She arches as far into him as she can, grinding against his hand.  
He adjusts his hand, scraping against her G-spot and sucking her clit at the same time. That’s it. She comes hard against him, the heat of the sun beating down on her skin and his heat all around her, holding her up. 

When she’s steady again, she puts her hands on her hips. “Out.”  
Gareth stares at her, flabbergasted, still trying to catch his breath from his bout of underwater cunnilingus. “But-”  
“Get out of the pool and go sit on that lounge chair. I’ll be right over.”  
He obeys.  
She climbs out and prowls over to the chair, straddling his lap and kissing him fiercely. Her hands roam over his arms and torso and tease the area just above his cock, somehow making him even harder than he's already been.  
He moans underneath her, unable to verbalize what he wants. Finally she ghosts her hand over his trunks, and he finds a word: “Please.” It comes out hoarse, broken.  
“Of course,” Laurel says in her same husky sex voice. She pulls his trunks down and her bottoms to the side and pumps his cock twice before easing down onto it.  
All the breath leaves him at once. She moves so quickly and her pussy’s still so tight and wet-she feels amazing around him.  
She squares her hands on his shoulders and rides him briskly, meeting him thrust for thrust. He thinks he’s saying something, but he has no idea what, other than maybe “Jesus, Laurel, fuck.” It doesn’t matter, as long as it keeps her going.  
She puts a new twist into her hips, and he can feel his balls tightening. “Shit, Lo, please. I’m-”  
“You’re gonna come?”  
He nods frantically.  
“It’s OK, baby,” she purrs. “It’s OK, I’m ready, come for me.” She kisses him, swallowing his scream as he comes. The vibrations course through her body and make her come again.  
She lifts her hips, adjusts their clothes, and then sinks back onto his lap.  
After a few minutes he speaks in a sleepy tone, “I’m so glad nobody else wanted to come over. This was the best. Pool party. **Ever.** ”  
She gives him a peck on the cheek. “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any clotheshorses out there, Laurel's bikini http://www.bluefly.com/indie-soul-zooey2/p/361647001, http://www.bluefly.com/indie-soul-karina-bottom/p/383887301 and sunglasses http://www.bluefly.com/tods-womens-round-blue-sunglasses/p/373039301 and Gareth's trunks http://www.bluefly.com/retromarine-woven-cubes-mid-thigh/p/376315601


	5. Smacked: How to Graciously Rebuff an Ill-Timed Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke calls Laurel to check on a work issue. He couldn’t have picked a worse time-or could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was thinking about the title I toyed with lines from a few songs about rough sex and/or difficult relationships-Allison Iraheta’s “Beat Me Up,” Ashlee Simpson’s “La La,” Avril Lavigne’s “Hot,” and Rihanna’s “S&M”-but none of them really seemed to fit as titles. However, all the songs have the potential to set a mood for what Laurel and Gareth are up to at the end! ;)

Laurel’s phone rings. “What is it, Luke?!” she barks.  
Luke sighs. “Laurel, did you get the legwork finished on that last constituent’s proposal?”  
“I got it, Luke. I just can’t really- **oh!** -talk about it right now.”  
Luke’s eyes widen at her interrupting cry. “You OK, sis?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! Just smacked my leg against the coffee table.”  
“And you’re sure you’re OK? No broken bones, shattered glass, cuts?”  
“Yeah, no, nothing’s broken. Hurts like hell and I’m gonna have a nice shin bruise, but I’m fine.”  
“OK, I’m not even gonna ask how you managed to pull that off. Guess I’ll see you and your new bruise at work tomorrow.”  
“Yeah, sure thing. See you then!” Laurel hangs up and stashes her phone on her nightstand.  
Gareth smirks above her. “I didn’t know this position was called ‘smacking your leg against the coffee table’.”  
Laurel groans. “Just shut up and fuck me! You said you were going to make me scream-you got the goods?”  
It’s actually a good thing Luke called when he did-if he were still on the phone now, he’d hear words and noises no man should ever hear from his little sister’s mouth. As it is, it’s the neighbors’ problem.


End file.
